


Rolling with the Punches

by Klayr_de_Gall



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Deadpool being Deadpool, Feels, M/M, Not Really Character Death, Suicide, and Spidey being okay with it, and is sorry, deadpool whiplashs so hard with his feelings, mostly - Freeform, the autor dosn't know what he is doing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-07-12 01:30:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7078900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Klayr_de_Gall/pseuds/Klayr_de_Gall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter gets his wrist broken.</p><p>Wade gets his heart patched up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rolling with the Punches

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, I'm really sorry. 
> 
> This story was meant to be a short drabble to shut my brain up about this two and I don't know where that much words did come from now. And I'm still stuck with even more Ideas. The first attempt of writing this Characters, too. (Andrew Garfield's Spidey, btw)
> 
> English is not my native language and I am far from good at it, but I try. If you find any mistakes or something is just off-putting let me know!
> 
> **Warning: Suicide.**
> 
> Edit 30.07.2016
> 
> Now betaed by [rosac](http://archiveofourown.org/users/rosac/pseuds/rosac)! Thanks so much!

It had been a long day. A very, very long day and Peter cannot wait for it to finally end. He got wiped around New York more than he anticipated on any given day - by the bit more than the average intelligent villain of the week this time. Two buildings got partly destroyed and the road blocked but he is fairly sure no-one died. Still, he can't wait to read tomorrow's hateful headline in The Bugle about Spider-Man's little adventure. You might think a few fractured ribs are more than enough punishment.  
But his humiliation didn't end there.

Deadpool had saved the day this time. Not Spider-Man. **Deadpool**. Not that New York will ever acknowledge that ever, but it really hurts Peters ego a lot. He knows the man isn't really one of the bad guys, but getting saved by him like a damsel in distress was not something at his to-do list of the day. The evil whip-woman he was fighting today had actually managed to break his left web shooter together with his wrist. Between the burning pain and the struggle to get a bystander out of the way of falling rubble, Peter had missed how the mercenary actually showed up on the scene. The fight was ruthless and furious and over way too fast, Peter nearly missing the chance to shout “No killing!” at the older man. The bullet grazed the woman's ear and she screamed as it made contact with the concrete she was lying on.

“But the bitch destroyed my favorite taco-place!”

That explains a lot of Deadpool's anger and Peter has to stop the other man physically to protect his own rules. Its all thanks to his super strength, that he can hold the struggling merc back while he tries to get a good shot at the woman.

“C’mon!? She has to die! That is a crime against humanity! Let me stab her! _I’ll put her in a Taco!_ ”

His response to that is cut short because the red and black-clad man struggles a bit too hard and pulled on Peters broken wrist. He winces and fights the urge to draw it back but of course, it didn't go unnoticed.

“You okay baby boy? You hurt? Did that bitch hurt you?”

Deadpool seems honestly furious for a moment while he scans him up and down for injuries, and the brunet is taken aback, but then the tension snaps.

“Hope your butt is unharmed, or I kill her for sure. The only mine to touch. Property of Deadpool! You hear that, whip-bitch!? I kill you!”

' _Why is that my life_ ' Peter thinks while he hears a camera going off behind them.

“No killing.”

“Eww. But Spidey...”

“No.”

Deadpool deflates a bit after that and lets him web the sputtering lady up and against a streetlamp. The police will be here any minute and pick her up. He can hear the sirens a block down, approaching fast. _Spider-Man_ probably should stay and talk to them about the massive damage, but Peter Parker's ribs ache and his head hurts and he just wants to go home. And his painful throbbing wrist tells him that swinging isn't an option right now. Also calling a cab isn't an option either because he doesn't have any money on him.

Peter shoots the people watching him a short look before he turns around and walks away. What another great headline that will make.

It takes a moment and the rounding of two corners to register that Deadpool is trailing behind him with all intent of a lost puppy. Shoulders hunched, head hanging. He perks up the moment he noticed Peter has noticed him and closes the distance between them in two wide strides.

“What now, webs? Another great team up? … shadup. That was definitely a team up. We are two-thirds of team red, I’ll have you know.”

Deadpool has talked to himself in Peters presence before, but he is just too damn done for today to deal with that right now.

“I'm going home”, he announces, starting to walk again. Of course, Deadpool takes this as a cue to go with him and the young man rolls his eyes under the mask. Hard. “Down, boy. Go home.”

All it gets him is a snicker and a good long grab of his ass that makes Peter yelp in irritation and then in pain. He cradles his hurting hand to his chest and shoots some daggers at the merc, who again looks more like a red and black dog than a dangerous killer, his head tilted to one side.

“You know I have to bring you home after such a lovely date, though, right, my little muffin?”

Peter is so done with today.

He just knows that Deadpool won't go away – they went through this before – so he figures, he will just go to some random apartment building and announce ' _I'm home now_ ’ and ' _No, you are not invited up for coffee_ ' and ' _No, definitively not for sex_ ' and ' _No goodnight kiss and getyourhandofmyass goddamnit!_ '

The merc follows him all the way down to the Subway while whining about the taco-restaurant that got destroyed. Peter tunes him out after half a minute like a pro. The babbling man follows him into one of the last doors without stopping his rant.

Exhausted after the long day and the fight Peter slumps down in on of the uncomfortable seats, wriggling a bit as Deadpool sits beside him, way too close to be comfortable. He smells like gunpowder and tacos and Peter just argues with himself to push the merc from his seat to stop him mid-sentence, but the man just turns to him and says:

“So, about your broken wrist... Let me see it.”

“What?”

Peter has expected some stupid rubbish and is too surprised by Deadpool's concerned tone in his voice, to do anything other than sitting here and stare while his hand is slowly lifted.

His spider-senses aren’t screaming at him while Wade inspects his hand, surprisingly gentle. They don’t even acknowledge at all that a coldblooded killer is holding his broken wrist in his large hands right now. Peter thinks his brain might be broken as well.

”Uhh.“ For a guy his high and built, Deadpool can sound as uncertain as a small child that just got caught with the broken cookie jar at his feet. He looks at Peter, then down at his hand, then up at Peter again. To which the young man slowly raises one eyebrow. He isn’t sure if the merc can make that out in the gleamy light of the train, so he adds: “Sorry, I don’t speak crazy.”

“Ewww, Spidey. That’s rude. I’m even nice enough to escort you home after our date-night!”

“It’s not a date –“

Deadpool steam walks over him, obviously on a roll now.

“Actually holding hands on the first date, kinky, kinds. Could have bought me a coffee first, you know. But now, insults it is. Maybe because we taking the underground like some losers.”

“Deadpool…”, Peter tries.

“You might think someone as cool as we might have a better way of transportation. I should have a car. Like the Bat-Mobil. The Pool-Mobil! HA! Or a color-themed motorbike. That would be super cool. With rocket launchers –“

“Wade.”

Finally that gets the babbling merc’s attention and he stills, seemingly refocusing. The way he looks at Peter through his mask makes the younger superhero imagine that he is blinking rapidly at him. And that he shakes his head a little just confirms this assumption.

“Of course he knows. We are not actually low profile.” Wade is muttering to himself now, his finger slowly stroking over Peters broken wrist. That his senses still are peacefully quiet is the only reason he hasn’t snatched it back.

“That are gloves, right? Spidey? Spidey, am I right?”

It takes Peter a moment to register, that the red and black-clad man has asked an actual question that makes sense. Some kind of sense at least. He slowly nods, looking at his broken joint. Healing-factor or not, it will take a while to come together and the painful throb isn’t exactly comfortable.

“Goody!”

The excitement in the dark voice lets Peter wonder for a moment (that really can’t mean anything good) and he is too confused to realize what’s going on. When he does it is already too late. Deadpool’s leather-clad finger had sneaked under the hem of the spandex glove and he pulls it off unceremoniously. Peter is so shocked, that he doesn't really appreciate how little that treatment did actually hurt. A moment later he pulls his hand back forcefully, dragging the tender part against one of the leather edges of Deadpool’s own gloves. That hurts like a bitch and his eyes water.

“Oww, webs. Didn’t take you for a masochistic little spider. That wasn’t the smartest thing to do. And they think of me as the crazy one.”

There is an annoyed edge in Deadpool’s cheery voice, but he isn’t trying to hold Peter back. He just sits there, spine rigid. Peter swallows with a click. His heart is in his throat and he doesn’t know why. It’s not like the merc had pulled off his mask. It’s just his glove. Not like Wade can tell anything about his identity from his bare hand alone.

“What was that for?” He tries to quench his nerves with anger, but he isn’t sure it works.

“Oh, don’t know. Maybe because your wrist is shredded and it will be a real fussily-fuss if it heals up all wrong – believe me, happened to me once, had my whole arm backward and that was so annoying - even if I could reach that one spot on my back that itched like hell… had to break it again to get it right. That wasn’t fun. Not even for me. So I thought, hey, Spider-boy sure as hell doesn’t look like he would find that funny either. Maybe I should… adjust the bones?”

The last one sounds suspiciously like a question like Wade isn’t sure at all if that was what he wanted to do. But he is holding his hand out somewhat demanding and Peter realizes that the question is directed at him.

“You know what you are doing?”

“Trust Doctor Deadpool on this, honey! I’ll kiss the boo-boo better.”

There are a lot of people Peter can think of that he would trust with this more than he would Wade Wilson, crazy mercenary and gun for hire, but none of these people are available right now. And Deadpool has to have at least some sense of how the human body works. Even if the young superhero suspects he just goes and hacks away with his katanas ’til his victim is dead.

“Let me do this, little spider.”

Deadpool's voice is serious for once and Peter looks at him. Really looks at him. There is some earnestness in his posture, shoulders hunched forward a bit as if he wants to look less big, less threatening. And it works. And Peter is sure the older man would understand if he refused the help. He would crack some dumb joke and get up, brushing it off and let Peter deal with the outcome. But for a reason he can't pinpoint, that’s not what Peter wants. Maybe it is the stale smell in the N.Y. subway that is shortcutting his brain. Or whatever.

So he places his broken wrist back into the patently waiting hand, and the merc beams at him, mask stretching wide.

“Won’t regret it, muffin, just let me do my thing. You know the drill, on three, yadda yadda and so on. One… Oh - probably want to bite down on something. That’s going to hurts like a bitch. Not lying here.”

Peter is taught as a bow while the other man counts to three and then nothing happens. He blinks, waits for a heartbeat and opens his mouth to ask what's wrong.  
Wade stomps down hard on his feet.

It is more surprise than pain. Peter will deny the embarrassing yelp that comes out of his mouth. For the rest of his life. Spider-Man is too cool for that. And Peter Parker... Whatever. Never. “What the fuck! Wade! What was that –“

He stills while Deadpool pulls off his own glove and rips the clasp off without effort. He wraps the black material around Peters thrumming wrist and secures it tightly with the velcro part, humming the whole time to himself. Peter hasn’t felt a damn thing. Not even a tickle, even while his brain informs him it must have had hurt. It’s embarrassing that the first thought crossing his mind is, that Wade must have done it wrong. But he bites his tongue before he can say that out loud. His in no shape to deal with Deadpool, might he decides to snap.

“Ta-dah. As good as new. Should probably get the thingy x-rayed anyway, but should heal perfectly now.”

The merc sounds proud of himself and rubs a few reassuring circles at the back of Peter's hand before the younger man catches on and pulls it back.

“That was a dick move.”, he informs the train in general before he can think any better if it, waiting for the older man to crack up on that and giggle about “Dick”. Or “Move.” With Deadpool, you can never be too sure. But Deadpool comes to his feet abruptly, hands clenching into fists at his side.

“Thanks for helping me out, Deadpool.”, Wade mutters darkly to himself. “Thanks for the bodyguarding, Deadpool. … of course he wouldn’t say that. Shaddap!”

While Peter has still to process what is going on and what would have triggered such a violent outburst, Deadpool has stalked through the wagon, his semi-automatic drawn and shoots the lock of the back door of the train. He kicks the door open the moment Peter finally scrambles to his feet.

“Wait!”

He has his hand outstretched, web shooter aimed but realizes too late that he isn’t wearing them. The mercenary snarls at him like a wild animal, gun aimed at him in more of a warning. They stare at each other for a heartbeat while Peter's spider senses suddenly screams at him. He is sure Deadpool will shoot him. And then the red and black-clad man throws himself out of the train.

There is a sickening splattering sound mixed with cracking and Peter feels ill all of the sudden. That sound will haunt him for a while. And had he just driven Wade to commit suicide? Non-permanent as it might be. There is a soft little voice in the back of his head – sounding surprisingly like the mouthy merc himself – that tells him he had done something that drastic so that he would not hurt Peter.

The few people in the front of the wagon stare at him open-mouthed, while he shrugs helplessly, guilt wracking havoc in his brain. Peter feels bad because it was his fault Deadpool ticked that hard. Maybe not just him has had a stressful day and he should have known that even under Wads carefree behavior, life was gnawing away on his more than a bit fried nerves. Trust it to him that he would fuck it up. He should just have thanked the other man. Killer or not. He had helped Peter out, had been gentle and considerate about it, too.

The train rattles to a stop at the next station and Peter gets out, even as his brain tries to convince him that it is a bad idea. But going home after what has happened doesn’t feel right. It doesn’t matter how much he longs for a nice hot shower or his warm bed. He doesn’t feel like he deserves it now because he just got Deadpool to commit suicide. With a hiss, the graffiti painted doors do close behind him and the late-night-train rolls away, leaving him standing alone in the dubious smell of the station, neon light flickering over his head. Out of his costume, Peter would have felt insecure in such a place, but right now he doesn’t care that much. Besides him, there are only some pigeons milling around, cooing softly and minding their own business.

“What now…?” he murmurs to himself, straining to look into the total black of the underground tunnel. He won’t go down there to search for Wade in this blackness because he doesn’t want to die that badly. Peter might be Spider-Man, but Deadpool is a world-class killer and the undergrounds are definitely more his domain the Spider-Man's.

So Peter sits down on the platform, legs dangling over the tracks, and waits. Probably the merc won’t show up. He might be crawling back to the light some other way but that would be okay. He has to wait anyway.

Absentmindedly he rubs his thumb over the black leather strap that secures his still arching wrist and he remembers how gently Wade had wrapped him up. The material is rough under the smooth spandex that covers his fingers, and he huffs silently, feels guilty all over again. Wade might be no hero, but he isn’t just bad either. He had helped Peter at least as much as he fucked something up around New York City and the brunet thought he would be more sensible to acknowledge that for once.

He doesn’t have to wait too long before the soft shuffling and muttering starts in the distance, but it takes quite a while before he can make out words. They don’t make much sense. Apparently, Wade is talking to himself in some one-sided conversation. Peter remembers “the Boxes” and he wishes they would stop because from the way the older man’s breath gets a bit more strained and his voice a few octaves darker, they seem to rile him up.

“Wade,” he says. He is sitting in ugly bright neon-light, but the utter silence that follows tells the waiting man that his presence had only registered now. He can’t see the mercenary. The silence is somewhat chilly, but the metallic hiss that follows as Deadpool unsheathe his swords is even worse, sending a chill down Peters' spine. His senses are screeching in alarm, and he knows that this scenario can get worse really fast, but he tries to stay relaxed. He lifts both hands in a sign of peace, showing that he is unarmed.

“Spider-man.”

The older man’s voice is a deep rumble and he stays in the shadow. Too close for Peter’s comfort because he still can’t see him, but he has to rely on his instincts here.

“Wade. I just… Thanks for this.” He lifts his injured hand. “And for the help. And just. …thank you.”

Silence falls between them and Peter wiggles uncomfortably. The concrete is cold through his suit and the flickering light drives him slowly up the wall and why isn't Wade talking? It was so unusual for the infamous Merc with a Mouth that it sparks something in Peter and makes him kneed his fingers and just say the first thing in his mind.

“I want to buy you ice-cream.”

“What??”

There is a loud clatter that follows that taken aback shriek, then some more muttering.

“Not cool, Wade, so not cool. Spider-Man wants to buy me some ice-cream and I’m just… I know he couldn’t see us!”, he hisses like a cat.

Peter catches himself smiling a little and blinks in confusion. But before he can dwell too much on that feeling, the merc finally steps out of the shadows. He looks a bit worse to wear, the characteristic spandex ripped and partly gone around the body parts that had the worst impact on the tracks. The rest is bloodied up and his mask is ripped as well, revealing the lower part of Deadpool's face. He doesn’t have his katanas in hand anymore, and that’s a win. But he looks uncertain and more than a bit suspicious and that’s not that much of a win.

“You mean that?”, he asks in an unusually cautious voice.

Peter’s heart breaks a bit at that and he answers with all the sincerity he feels.

“Yes.”

The beaming smile that spreads over the scarred lips tells him it is the right answer.

\-----  
In the end, it is Wade who pays for the ice-cream because Peter still has no money on himself. But the merc is so happy that he seems to glow and that's enough. And if Peter lets him get away with the warm arm thrown around his shoulder... well. No one has to know.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks a lot for reading! <3  
> I hope this isn't half as bad as my brain makes me believe it might be. If you enjoyed to read it, let me know. And if not let me know as well.


End file.
